


just watch me bloom

by KelseyO



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: (but only by people who don't know what's going on), (the only transphobia here is Casey's own internal panic), COME FOR THE TRANS REP STAY FOR THE CAZZIE NONSENSE, Closeted Character, Coming Out, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Misgendering, No Smut, Nonbinary Character, Other, Trans Character, lots of swearing, no tragedy - just self exploration and a few meltdowns, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: Casey Gardner can't stop thinking about that tweed suit.xIn which having fun with clothes leads to a haircut which leads to a lot of self-realizations that they (yes, they) weren't prepared for. Non-binary Casey, post-season 3, title from Hayley Williams.
Relationships: Casey Gardner/Izzie
Comments: 18
Kudos: 179





	just watch me bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, and hello Atypical fandom.
> 
> I know I haven't posted anything in a very long time, and that was unintentional--I adore writing fic, am always looking for new inspiration, and there's a handful of WIPs that have been sitting in my Google drive for months, but I haven't quite had the energy or creative flow to dive back in. (Oh, but there's also BIFL--check it out on RevryTV!)
> 
> I didn't write at all for a month or two because work has been sucking the life out of me, but then one day I randomly asked a friend if she thought the Atypical writers would be willing to make Casey non-binary on the show since Brig cut their hair and came out. What started as a regular conversation turned into me apparently having a lot of specific ideas of what I'd want Casey's journey to look like (as someone who also realized the same things about themself within the past year), and I felt really drawn to the opportunity to give my feelings and my fears to this wonderful fictional person that I care so much about.
> 
> And so I outlined the story I saw in my head and ended up writing these 11,400 words in the span of about a month. This fic is very personal and very important to me--I put pieces of myself into certain scenes that I've never spoken aloud to anyone, I leaned on Izzie's love and support just as much as Casey does, and while there's no singular or "correct" way to come out to yourself or anyone else, I hope that Casey's experiences feel real and true and authentic as you read them.
> 
> Cazzie forever. Enjoy.
> 
> -Kelsey, they/them

Casey Gardner can’t stop thinking about that tweed suit.

About how she didn’t realize how many reflective surfaces there were in her house until she was checking herself out in every single one of them, and how her and Izzie’s fake flirting that night might not have been fake at all, and how she bought it exclusively to mess with Paige but it somehow ended up hanging in her closet instead of in Elsa’s perpetual Goodwill pile.

She still wears it sometimes, when no one else is home and there’s no risk of her being walked in on while she examines each angle, tries poses she normally makes fun of when she scrolls through Instagram, and she’s realizing the bummer at this point is that she only has one of these things.

“Hey, I have a question for you.”

“Hello to you, too,” Evan replies with a chuckle on the other end of the line. “I got five minutes left in my break. Shoot.”

Casey glances at her closet. “If you were gonna buy a suit—nothing crazy, nothing flashy, just something cheap but easy on the eyes—where would you go?”

She can hear him slurping on a soda straw. “Is this for Sam?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, it does if the suit is for someone who’ll have a panic attack if it’s a texture they don’t like.”

Casey sighs into the smallest smile. “No, it’s not for Sam.”

“Ah shit, did I forget your dad’s birthday? Do I even still get him a present if we’re broken up? Maybe I should just get him a card instead… but he doesn’t really seem like the sentimental type and those Hallmark cards make me wanna puke—”

“Evan. It’s for me.”

He finally lets himself take a breath. “Oh. Oh! Right on.”

“Please don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not gonna be weird about it!” he insists. “I’m just not sure how I can help you, y’know, ‘cause I really only shop at Brooks Brothers.”

She rolls her eyes and gives him one single “Hah.”

“Okay, okay, let’s see,” Evan begins thoughtfully. “There’s a couple thrift shops between my place and the movie theater… my favorite is the one by the park. There’s a really cool stained-glass window in the front, you can’t miss it.”

Casey takes a beat to visualize the neighborhood, then smiles for real. “Thanks, Evan.”

“Yeah, you got it. And hey, now I have a question.”

Something in her chest tightens.

“Did you only used to laugh at my jokes because we were dating, or have I gotten less funny? Actually, don’t answer that.”

She shakes her head. “Get back to work, Pizza Man.”

“Take it easy, Suit Girl.”

He hangs up and his final two words bounce against each other like a gnat hitting a window pane.

x

She waits until her dad has left for work and Elsa is busying herself with errands and Sam is on campus and there’s no one in her household to ask her where she’s going.

Not that this is a secret; she just doesn’t need the questions, especially when this is so totally not a big deal, just a one-hundred percent normal journey around town to look at some suits that happen to not be for a dinner party this time.

(Not that she needs a reason to acquire more suits. 

It’s not a big deal, okay?)

She decides to start with Evan’s favorite store and immediately zeroes in on a formalwear section tucked into the back corner, letting her fingers brush over a few shirts here and a few blazers there, doing some preliminary eyeballing of the sizes before she starts pulling stuff off the rack. 

Casey can’t remember the last time she focused this hard on something that wasn’t running-related. Her tweed suit was for satire, to get a rise out of Paige, and she didn’t care whether she looked goofy in it, because that wasn’t the point. This time she’s looking for something to _wear_ -wear, like wearing it out of the house and in front of people who aren’t her family, like wearing it in public with Izzie at her side, and her hands are shaking just a little as she counts her items for Fitting Room Guy.

Then she’s inside and alone, staring down this pile of fabric, and taking a deep breath. Casey’s pants off, new pants on; Casey’s shirt off, new shirt and vest on; and, finally, she slips her arms into the blazer, avoiding the mirror until she’s precisely arranged the jacket on her shoulders.

She starts at her feet, where the bottom few inches of the pant legs pool around her ankles, then studies her midsection, where the waistband doesn’t quite know what to make of her hips, but holy shit, _real pockets_ , then the shirt/vest combo that makes her boobs look even flatter than usual, _gloriously_ so, and her entire torso looks powerful as hell, and—

And then she gets to her hair, and she feels that tightness in her chest again.

Her brow furrows as she glances down at her own body, then back up to the mirror; she turns one way, then the other way, glances down again, stuffs her hands into the pockets, crosses her arms over her chest, and now her eyes are burning because something is off.

Casey looks like a woman who’s wearing a suit, and she does like the way women look in suits, but she doesn’t want to look like a woman in a suit. 

She wants to look like Casey in a suit.

All of this needs to come off immediately, she decides, and she flails out of each layer like one of those inflatable dudes at a car dealership but loses her balance as she tries to step out of the pants, and her foot launches into the edge of the bench that’s holding all of her shit. She lets out a loud grunt.

“Son of a bitch,” she mutters through clenched teeth.

“Are you okay in there, ma’am?”

Casey hates literally everything about that question. “I’m fine,” she calls back to the attendant, “just stubbed my toe.” She shrugs back into her own clothes, gets her face mostly back to normal, then drops her entire pile of failure onto the fitting room counter and almost jumps out of her skin when her phone starts to vibrate in her back pocket.

In the time it takes her to pull it out she privately declares she won’t answer for Evan, Elsa, or Sam—okay, maybe for Sam—but the screen shows Izzie’s name.

She swallows down whatever the fuck is happening with this lump in her throat, letting her thumb hover over the green button for a few rings, then over the red button, but the call ends before she can make up her mind.

x

Izzie is sitting on the front steps when Casey gets home, chewing on the straw of her Slurpee while Casey’s waits on the brick beside her, and that’s when Casey abruptly remembers the entire date they had planned for today.

“Hey,” Casey manages, hoping Izzie doesn’t notice her breathlessness.

“Did you go for a run without me?” Izzie asks, sounding scandalized, and tilts her head. “In jeans… and Converse…?”

Casey opens her mouth to answer but her mind blanks and her heart is beating way too fast. “Sorry. I sort of—forgot, about…” She gestures vaguely between them, still trying to catch her breath.

“Are you okay?” Izzie asks, setting her Slurpee down and getting to her feet.

She takes a half-step back without really meaning to and looks anywhere but at Izzie. “I’m, um. Just having kind of a day.” Casey glances at her watch. “Well, it’s 11:30 so I’m technically only having a _morning_ , but…”

Izzie closes the distance between them and cups Casey’s cheeks, then moves her palms down to Casey’s neck. “You’re really warm,” she observes before letting them rest on Casey’s shoulders. “Hey,” she says softly, “take a deep breath for me.”

“I’m fine,” Casey blurts, defaulting to her standard stubbornness even though she knows it won’t help her in the least. “I just—I think I hate my hair.” 

Another step closer, and Izzie drapes her wrists around the back of Casey’s neck like they’re slow-dancing. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Casey lets her own hands drift to Izzie’s hips and squeezes the fabric of her hoodie, still avoiding eye contact. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” is all Izzie says, then kisses Casey’s forehead and takes her hand.

x

She’s turtled inside Izzie’s sweatshirt and halfway through the Slurpee and Izzie hasn’t said anything yet, just watches Casey breathe and brushes her fingertips up and down the inside of Casey’s wrist, waiting.

Casey takes a big sip, balloons her cheeks, then swallows hard and lets the back of her skull hit the headboard with a thunk. “That tweed suit ruined everything.”

“What d’you mean?” Izzie asks, looking up at Casey with nothing but openness and curiosity.

She stares down at her cup for a long moment before setting it on her nightstand, then scoots down and lies on her side to mirror Izzie. “It was supposed to be a joke, but I… I, like—I _really_ like how it felt. Not the tweed, because tweed is gross and super itchy, but like… the suit-ness of it all. It was nice,” she mumbles.

Casey sighs and pulls at the drawstrings to close the hood around her face. “But then I went to this thrift store to try on more stuff, and… I don’t know. I loved everything from the neck down, and then…” She gestures at her hidden face. “Everything up here kind of messed with the… And like, I’ve never given a _shit_ about my hair until now. It’s just—it’s there and it’s whatever. I wear it up when I run and wear it down when I don’t, and Elsa’s too busy cheating on her husband and being a general nightmare to have an opinion about it, thank god.” Casey lets out a deep breath. “But when I’m wearing a suit, it just looks dumb.”

Izzie waits to see if Casey has anything more to say, but after a long moment of silence, she simply shrugs a shoulder. “Let’s cut it,” she suggests as if it’s obvious.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your mom cuts hair, right? So she has tools.”

Casey pulls her hood open. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

Izzie holds up a lock of her own hair. “When your parents aren’t around much and you can’t afford to go to a salon, you learn some things.”

“You want to cut my hair off?”

She raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do _you_ want me to cut your hair off?”

Casey takes the hood off and buries her fingers in her own waves. “Yeah,” she says after a beat, almost to herself. “I think I do.”

“Go get your mom’s shears,” Izzie instructs and begins to sit up.

“Wait!” Casey reaches for Izzie’s elbow to keep her in place, then cups her cheek and kisses her firmly.

Izzie’s grinning. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” Casey retorts, then makes her way to Elsa’s bathroom. She gags as she digs through the vanity drawers—maybe for fun, maybe not—and finds a zippered bag with a comb, clippers, and shears, and by the time she comes back, Izzie has Sam’s desk chair waiting in front of the bathroom sink and a towel folded along the edge of the counter.

“I thought this would be easier than getting one from downstairs,” Izzie explains, gesturing to Sam’s chair. “Hopefully he won’t mind.”

“Oh, he will,” Casey replies, shrugging out of Izzie’s hoodie. “Therefore, an excellent choice.” She tosses the sweatshirt onto her bed and looks at their makeshift setup, trying not to make a show of the deep breath she takes.

But of course, Izzie notices. “You sure you want to do this?”

Casey shrugs. “Yeah,” she replies, hating how high-pitched her voice comes out. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She glances down at the supplies she’s holding but doesn’t hand them over yet.

“Because this is a semi-permanent change that you won’t be able to hide from anyone, including your mom,” Izzie answers gently, like she can sense Casey’s internal panic. “Are you okay with that?”

One more deep breath in and out, then she gives Izzie the bag. “I am. I promise.”

Izzie grins again and takes Casey’s hand, leading her to sit in the chair. Casey leans back so her head is over the sink, closes her eyes, and listens to Izzie turn on the faucet.

Fingertips ghost from her collarbone to her jawline and a warm palm cups her cheek, then a hot puff of breath tickles her ear on the opposite side. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” Izzie whispers.

“Better not fuck it up.”

She giggles, then her fingers dig into Casey’s hair, pushing it all back and away from her face, and Casey relaxes as she feels the hot water begin to soak in. Izzie grabs the shampoo and conditioner from the shower and gives Casey’s hair a full-service cleaning, massaging her scalp hard enough that all of Casey’s anxiety from this morning seems to flow right down the drain with the final rinse.

Izzie pats her dry with a towel then guides her back to an upright position and drapes the towel around Casey’s shoulders. “Do you want to face the mirror while I cut?”

Casey shakes her head quickly. “Under no circumstances.”

She stands in front of Casey and leans in close, combs the front section of Casey’s hair forward so it covers Casey’s face, then Casey hears the slow and careful _snip_ … _snip_ … _snip_ … and suddenly she can see Izzie’s eyes again, as well as her mischievous smile.

“No turning back now, Newton.”

x

Casey spends an entire hour trying not to count the snips or the chunks of hair falling to the floor around her or increasing weightlessness of her head as Izzie goes around and around and around. 

She knows it’s an hour because Izzie decides almost immediately that they can’t do this in silence and plays a Carly Rae Jepsen album on her phone, which Casey whines about in the moment but will probably secretly find on Spotify later, and she doesn’t even realize Izzie has stopped snipping until the music stops playing.

Izzie sets the shears on the counter and pulls the towel off Casey’s shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

Her eyes flit between Casey and the mirror. “I’m done. You can look.”

Casey’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Wh—I… you’re done?”

“Mhmm,” Izzie confirms, nodding and trying very, very hard not to smile too big.

“If I hate it, I’m breaking up with you,” Casey threatens, sort of hating the way she’s clutching the armrests of Sam’s chair.

Izzie holds out her hands, waits for Casey to take them, then pulls her out of the chair, looking into her eyes like she’s watching her favorite scene from her favorite movie. After another beat she cups Casey’s cheeks and kisses her, slowly and deeply, and Casey’s world spins in the realest way she’s ever felt.

Then Izzie pulls away and steps aside, and Casey realizes Izzie has _literally_ spun her around to face the mirror.

“Oh _shit_ ,” she breathes, and she watches her lips move in the mirror but nothing else about the visual makes sense; actually, it makes _perfect_ sense, but she’s so used to ignoring her hair altogether and now she can’t stop looking at her own reflection, because— “Izzie. Oh my god.”

Casey finally remembers that she has hands and lifts them up to confirm what she’s seeing in front of her, to touch, and when her fingers glide in and then _out_ , when she musses up a chunk here and chunk there and it all self-rearranges into effortless bedhead— “ _Izzie_.”

“Do you like it?”

The worry creeping into Izzie’s voice is what tears Casey’s eyes away from the mirror, and she throws her arms around Izzie and pulls her into the tightest hug she can physically manage. She exhales into Izzie’s shoulder while Izzie’s fingers play with the shortest patch of hair on the back of Casey’s neck.

“Casey,” she says softly, “you’re shaking.”

“Shut up.”

“My afternoon class was cancelled so I need my chair back,” Sam’s voice announces from the other doorway.

Casey all but jumps out of the embrace and resists the urge to hide behind Izzie, because that would be stupid. “We’re done with it. Go ahead.”

He nods once, brushes a few stray hairs off the seat, and moves the chair back into his own room. “That length suits your facial structure,” he says as matter-of-factly as ever then closes the door behind him.

“Wow,” Casey mutters, “if that’s not one enthusiastic stamp of approval from Samuel Gardner, I don’t know what is.”

Izzie plays with the hair around Casey’s ear. “How do you feel?”

Casey looks in the mirror again, trying to visualize a million things at once. “I feel like I kind of wanna go try on that suit again.”

“So let’s go,” Izzie says; once again, as if it’s obvious.

(Casey also feels like she kind of loves this girl.)

x

They walk back to the store hand-in-hand.

Casey finds the same clothes as before and brings them to Fitting Room Guy for the second time, avoiding eye contact while she waits to see if he’ll recognize her from this morning.

“Right this way, sir,” he says, gesturing for her to follow him to an empty stall, and this weird spark of… _something_ shoots through Casey’s entire body, and the only thing she can think to compare it to is that moment near the end of a race when she pulls ahead enough to know she’s going to win.

She locks the door, shucks off her clothes, and this time watches the mirror as she puts on the pants, the shirt, the vest, the jacket; if this still doesn’t work, she wants to know exactly when and why everything goes to shit.

(What if, even after this haircut, everything still goes to shit?)

Casey physically shakes her head to get rid of the thought, then squares her shoulders inside the blazer, and—

And then she realizes she’s done. There’s nothing left to put on, nothing left to arrange—this is the full outfit, and nothing terrible has happened yet. She takes a step closer to the mirror, turns to the left and to the right, studies her jaw line, messes with her hair a little, and absolutely no part of the image in front of her makes her want to puke or set the clothes on fire or run until she hits the ocean.

“Izzie?”

“I’m right here, Case.”

Casey glances toward the door, then back to the mirror. “Like, _right here_ right here? Like if I open the door I’ll see you right away?”

She hears footsteps and then three gentle knocks on the door. “I’m _right here_ right here.”

Casey nods to no one, turns the knob, and opens the door a few inches.

“Let me see!” Izzie begs, waving for her to step out of the room.

Instead, Casey opens the door just wide enough and then pulls Izzie into the room with her. “I don’t want anyone else to see yet,” she stage-whispers as all of the self-consciousness comes rushing back. “Just you.”

Meanwhile Izzie’s jaw is on the floor as she gives Casey the most blatant once-over she’s ever seen in her life. She steps closer and adjusts Casey’s lapel, eyes seeming to pore over every inch of the outfit. “Holy shit, Newton.”

“Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

“Like, this-is-the-best-date-ever holy shit.”

Casey sighs in relief, leaning her forehead down to Izzie’s. “You really don’t mind that I derailed our actual plans?”

“I mean, if it’s watching the _Fast & Furious _ saga versus watching my favorite person feel amazing?” Izzie’s voice softens even more. “I’m gonna choose you every time.”

Casey’s face, neck, entire body burns. “You would’ve fallen asleep by _Fast Five_ , anyways.”

Izzie laughs. “Oh please, like I’d even make it past _Tokyo Drift_.”

“Excuse me,” Fitting Room Guy calls out to them, “only one person per stall, please.”

Casey makes a face. “Dammit, Izzie, you’re gonna get us kicked out.”

Izzie wacks her in the arm and leaves the stall. “Sorry, had to help with a zipper.”

She clamps her palm over her mouth to smother her laughter, then switches back to her Casey clothes and she and Izzie head for the cash registers.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

Casey turns around mid-stride and gives Fitting Room Guy a walking bow. “Good afternoon, indeed.”

x

The shopping bag sits on the floor of her closet for a week.

As amazing as it felt to stand in front of that fitting room mirror with her hair _and_ her suit, there’s something very different and very intimidating about the idea of being that version of herself in her own bedroom, under Elsa’s roof, within the realm of Elsa’s near complete disregard for privacy. Every time she’s so much as _looked_ in the direction of the parcel in question, she’s immediately heard footsteps on the stairs or the _clunk_ of a laundry basket being set down in the hallway, and Casey just can’t bring herself to expose the glory of her suit to… this.

(That’s also the reason why she’s been wearing sweatshirts around the house, with the hood secured firmly around her head—trying to delay the inevitable.)

But now it’s Sunday afternoon and Casey’s struggling to hold onto the mental image of her reflection in that mirror. She can smell Elsa cooking downstairs and starts to think; what if she puts the thing on really quick, takes a selfie or ten, then throws it all back into the darkness? Surely Elsa wouldn’t abandon meal prep just to annoy her second favorite child.

Casey cracks open her bedroom door and sniffs the air. “Lasagna,” she concludes, then sniffs again but more deeply. “ _Vegan_ lasagna.” Not only is this dish a delicate process, but Elsa will have to keep Casey’s dad out of the kitchen so he continues to be blissfully ignorant about the complete lack of meat he’s putting in his mouth-hole.

“This’ll do,” Casey whispers to herself, closing her door quietly, then all but tiptoes over to her closet and retrieves the bag with the grace and precision of a bomb squad veteran. She sets it on her bed, then thinks better of it and moves it to the carpet so it’s not sticking up from her mattress like a shark fin, then takes each item out one by one. Casey opts to put the pants and shirt on over her shorts and tank top in the event that a reverse-Superman maneuver becomes necessary, buttons up the vest and then the jacket—

“Honey, can I trouble you for an opinion on the ‘beef’?”

She hates that she can hear Elsa’s air quotes through the door. “No,” she calls out, but the door opens and in walks her mom holding out a serving spoon of lasagna filling. “I said no, Elsa!” Casey yells.

“You always say no.”

“And yet you always come in anyway!”

Elsa couldn’t be less bothered by Casey’s volume as she takes in the outfit. “Aww, don’t you look cute! What’s the occasion?”

Casey struggles to unbutton the blazer. “Nothing! I just—nothing,” she grumbles, turning her back to Elsa, who immediately starts fussing with the fabric.

“It’s a little long in some places—”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m just saying, I could—”

“I would _really_ prefer that you didn’t.”

“Casey—”

“Get out.”

“Just a few alterations here and there—”

“Elsa!”

Casey’s heart is practically beating out of her chest as she shrugs away from Elsa’s touch, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps before she dares to turn around again.

Her mom is still holding the spoon and still studying Casey’s suit. “At least let me fix the shoulders for you.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Casey blurts, more to end this conversation than anything. “But if you ruin my clothes, I’ll—”

“I know,” Elsa says gently with a smile. “I promise I’ll be careful.” Her eyes lift to Casey’s head.

Casey crosses her arms defensively. “And I’m not gonna apologize for the hair.” 

Elsa shrugs. “Why would you? It looks great.” She holds out the spoon. “This, however…”

“Looks like alien guts,” Casey finishes for her.

“I’ll try a lower setting on the food processor,” she says with a sigh, then gives Casey one of those mom looks she despises. “My girl’s growing up.”

Casey’s stomach lurches, and it has nothing to do with the lasagna. She points to her door, arm straight out.

Elsa nods. “Okay, okay, I’m gone,” she insists, but pauses in the doorway. “Just leave those clothes on your bed and I’ll—”

She closes the door in Elsa’s face.

x

There are ten consecutive minutes of hair talk at track practice the next day; all positive, but still all very embarrassing, and between her need to physically separate from her teammates and the way she can feel the wind blowing through her hair, feel her _speed_ , Casey obliterates half of her own records by the time coach blows the whistle.

She collapses onto the bench next to Izzie, downs some water, and tries to catch her breath as the others do cool-down stretches a few yards away.

“Damn, Case, did you double your Wheaties intake this morning?”

Casey smirks. “Tripled, actually.”

Another teammate shakes her head in awe. “Like, we all know you’re the star of the team, but I think you might be the best girl in the whole athletics program.”

That stomach feeling comes roaring back like someone switched on a garbage disposal and she stares down at the grass between her shoes.

“I mean, I might be a little biased, but I think Casey’s the best _person_ in the athletics program.” Izzie’s voice is calm and clear beside her and earns a cheer of agreement from the group.

Casey doesn’t listen for any specifics, just keeps her head down and waits for everyone to head to the locker room.

Izzie stays.

“Why did you say that?” Casey asks very, very quietly.

“Because, contrary to what the football team believes, it’s probably true.”

Casey clenches her jaw, swallows hard. “You know what I mean.”

Izzie doesn’t answer right away. “When you feel uncomfortable, you do this thing where…” She reaches out and brushes her thumb against Casey’s cheek. “The corner of your mouth sort of twitches, like you want to say something.” Her hand slips down to rest on Casey’s shoulder. “And I saw that twitch… when she called you a girl.”

“Well, I’m not a girl,” Casey snaps, like it’s obvious, then her breath catches in her throat and her knee starts to bounce. “Fuck,” she mutters. “ _Fuck_. Is that… is that weird to say?”

“No,” Izzie replies simply.

Casey takes a deep breath in and out. “You promise?”

Izzie leans in and kisses the corner of Casey’s mouth, the freckle on her temple, the base of her ear. “I promise.”

“Like, _promise_ promise?”

She presses her hand to Casey’s chest, where Casey’s pulse is still racing. “ _Promise_ , promise.”

“On my boob?”

Izzie rolls her eyes. “On your heart, dummy.”

x

Casey spends most of her school day thinking about gendered titles (Mr. and Mrs. Teacher), gendered uniforms (pants for boys and skirts for girls), and gendered restrooms (why can’t everyone just pee in a stall and be done with it?), and by the time she gets home and realizes that even the words “mom” and “dad” are gendered, she’s stomping up to her room like the whole world is ending.

She can’t even flop onto her bed because the pieces of her suit are still lying across her comforter, exactly where she left them this morning, and Casey huffs at the thought that Elsa didn’t have any time for arts and crafts today.

Whatever, she decides as she tosses her backpack to the floor and takes off her school clothes, and right before she reaches for a t-shirt she stops and looks at the suit again.

(If Elsa wasn’t around to be a one-woman tailor service, then she probably isn’t around to barge in on Casey again.)

She’ll just do the shirt and jacket this time. It’ll be faster, and the top half is more important anyways, and—

And the fabric fits snug around her shoulders, with no awkward seams or bulges, like… like it was made for her.

“Elsa,” Casey mutters to no one, “you outdid yourself.”

She hears movement from her brother’s room and ditches the jacket for the t-shirt, then cautiously steps into the bathroom to see if it’s Elsa since she should probably say thank you or something, but instead she finds Sam rummaging under his bed.

“What’cha doing, Samuel?”

“Looking for Edison’s tortoise food.”

She lets him move a few more things around. “I put it in your underwear drawer.”

Sam gets to his feet and immediately turns to his dresser. “Why did you do that?”

“So your underwear smells like tortoise food.”

“Annoying, but logical,” Sam concludes as he digs through his briefs and eventually retrieves the food canister.

Casey grins. “Two of my favorite things to be,” she says, then thinks about moms and dads and brothers and sisters and _“I’m not a girl”_ and clears her throat. “Hey, Sam?”

“What,” is the modicum of attention Sam spares her as he sprinkles pellets into Edison’s tank.

“D’you think that when you talk about me, or like, introduce me to someone, or whatever… could you call me your sibling instead of your sister? Like, would that be a problem, or…?”

He shrugs. “If I can handle a Socratic seminar I should be able to handle a minor linguistic adjustment.”

Casey relaxes against the door frame. “Thanks, bud.”

“Please leave. Edison needs privacy to eat.”

“Do you think his food smells like underwear?”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he replies, but picks up the canister and sniffs it himself.

Casey does a chef’s kiss on her way back to her room.

x

Date night with Izzie is at Don’s, their first time coming here 1) alone, 2) since Evan and Nate’s disastrous playdate, and 3) with Casey’s new hair, and that’s kind of… a lot. Izzie seems to be well aware of all of this and has stayed within arm’s reach ever since they got out of the car, letting Casey lead the way but making sure she knows Izzie is right there with her.

(It’s nice. Really, really nice.)

“Heh-hey, check you out!” Evan greets when he sees Casey approaching the counter. “What up, Suit Girl?”

Casey feels Izzie tense beside her and knows what she’s getting ready to say, but her own mouth somehow opens first.

“Officially not into the Suit Girl thing,” Casey says with a nonchalance that surprises even her. “Zero out of ten. I hereby banish ye from all conversations henceforth.”

To his credit, Evan is nodding. “That… was a lot of weird words, but yeah, cool. Banished.”

Casey glances at Izzie. “I love when boys follow instructions. I feel powerful.”

“It’s very sexy on you.”

Evan’s eyes flit between the two of them. “Uh. The boy is standing right here.” He clears his throat when Izzie kisses Casey on the cheek. “So… what can I get you, Suit—?” he begins, then catches himself right away. “—Case.” A beat later, his eyes widen and he presses his hands to his temples. “Oh my god.”

Casey finally turns her attention back to him. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

“Suit-Case. Like, Case as in Casey. But Suit-Case, like _suit_ case.” He’s staring into space as he grips the edge of the counter, like he’s overwhelmed. “Holy shit. This is the best thing that’s ever happened.”

“Politically active Taylor Swift is the best thing that’s ever happened,” Izzie corrects him as she studies the menu above his head, then nudges Casey’s hip with her own. “Wanna split a loaded veggie?”

Casey sighs. “I will never understand why you insist on adding so much nutrition to such a beautifully unhealthy meal.”

“Suit-Case,” Evan whispers to himself.

She snaps her fingers in front of his face a few times. “Hey. Focus. One large veggie and two Sprites, please.”

He blinks himself out of his daze. “Yeah, coming right up,” he confirms, punching their order into the register then yanking out the receipt that prints and bringing it to the kitchen.

Izzie hip-checks Casey again. “That was really brave and I’m proud of you.”

Casey hip-checks her right back even as she feels her face burn and her chest swell. “Shut up.”

(She finds Izzie’s hand between them and holds it tightly.)

x

When Paige’s name appears on Casey’s phone screen in the middle of her and Sam’s _Planet Earth_ marathon, her attention immediately goes to her brother.

“Why is your girlfriend calling me?”

“How should I know?”

Casey moves her phone across the couch cushion. “Answer it.”

Sam doesn’t look away from the TV. “ _You_ answer it.”

“She and I have a pre-established system wherein she’s only supposed to call for emergencies about you, and since you’re right here in front of me, that’s clearly not the case.”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response this time.

Casey rolls her eyes and hits the green button. “Paige! What can I do ya for?”

“ _Well_ ,” Paige begins like she’s about to answer a job interview question _way_ too thoroughly, and Casey already regrets this entire phone call. “Sam told me about your little gender-neutral request—”

Oh no.

“—And so of course I went ahead and did a whole bunch of research on the logistics of gender nonconformity. The restroom struggle has obviously been at the forefront for years, and currently only ten states allow residents to use the ‘X’ gender marker on their ID, but many schools and business are becoming a lot more open-minded about using preferred names and pronouns—”

“Paige,” she thinks she says, but she actually has no idea if the word made it out of her throat.

“—I’ve never personally known any non-binary people before now, but I can assure you that I will take my trans education _very_ seriously and urge you to correct me if I say anything at _all_ that’s out of line or makes you feel—”

Casey swears someone just cranked the thermostat fifty degrees. “Paige—”

“—Just know that you can absolutely trust me as an ally, and I will _never_ hesitate to speak up for your rights—”

“ _Paige_ ,” Casey yells this time, and even Sam looks in her direction, and she wishes she’d planned out literally anything to say beyond Paige’s name.

The world’s politest “Yes?” comes from the other end.

Casey watches Sam watching her, then watches the aquatic life on the TV swim around without having to deal with any of this bullshit, then realizes she’s holding her breath and releases it in a shaky huff. “Now’s not a good time, I’ll call you back.” She hangs up before Paige can get another word in and drops her phone like it’s burned her hand.

“Was it an emergency?” Sam asks.

Paige’s voice is echoing around her skull, words bouncing around each other like popcorn in a microwave, and it takes her an extra beat to realize Sam has said anything. “I need to get some air. You’re okay by yourself, right?”

“I’m a grown man, Casey. I don’t need a babysitt—”

“Great,” she blurts, “catch you later,” and she throws on sneakers and a sweatshirt and runs outside like the house is on fire.

She keeps running.

x

By the time Casey gets to the track she can barely breathe, and instead of jogging her feelings away she ends up planting her butt on the bottom row of the bleachers, huffing and puffing and trying _really_ hard not to cry.

She’s been taking things one day, one hour, one problem at a time, not really paying much attention to the big picture or what any of it even means; then in swoops Paige with an entire TedTalk about… about so many things, so many _big_ things, things that Casey hadn’t even thought to worry about yet, and she feels like the floor just turned to glass and now she realizes that she’s so much higher up than—

Casey squeezes the cold metal edge of the bench until her knuckles turn white, then squeezes even harder, wondering how much strain her bones could take before they crack.

“It’s not like you to be sitting still out here.”

Her entire body flinches at the sound of Izzie’s voice and she doesn’t bother looking around, just waits until Izzie takes a careful seat beside her. “Did Elsa track my phone again?”

“Not this time,” Izzie replies with a soft laugh. “I just figured you might be here.”

“How did you know that there was even a ‘here’ to be?”

“Sam called me, believe it or not. He said something like, ‘I think Paige broke my sibling but I don’t want to miss the episode about penguin migration, can you make sure Casey is okay’.”

Casey glances up now. “You gave Sam your number?”

Izzie shrugs. “Just in case.”

She rests her head in her hands and lets out a deep breath, and when she raises her head again, there are tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong, is you’re so fucking awesome and I’m so scared that I’m gonna fuck everything up,” she says all in one breath, hands shaking as she tries to wipe away the tears. “I don’t—I have no idea what I’m doing, Izzie.”

There’s a gentle hand on her back. “Case, nobody knows what they’re doing.”

“I’m not talking about normal, standard, everyday life confusion, I’m talking about…” Casey gestures at herself. “... _this._ The suit, then the hair, then my stupid face twitch… I don’t understand why any of this is happening. I-I—I don’t _want_ it. I want it all to stop. I’m…” Her voice cracks. “I don’t want everything to change.”

Izzie scoots a few inches closer and wraps both of her arms around Casey’s right arm. “You kissing me on that track was a pretty big change.”

Casey sniffs, leans into Izzie. “What if my parents can’t handle another one? How am I gonna get them to deal with this whole other thing? _I_ don’t even want to deal with it.”

“I’m not sure I buy that,” Izzie challenges gently. “In the last few weeks you’ve already found new clothes you love, cut off your hair, and asked both Sam and Evan to change the way they address you. You may not realize it, but those are all _massive_ things.”

“Well, what if it’s too much? What if I wake up tomorrow and change my mind? Paige knows how I can change my driver’s license but I don’t even know if I want to change my pronouns.”

Izzie perches her chin on Casey’s shoulder, lets her breathe for a few moments. “Casey, I don’t think you would’ve told me you’re not a girl if there wasn’t something inside of you that didn’t sincerely mean that.”

Casey takes a deep, shuddering breath. “There were a lot of double negatives in there.”

“When you tell me how you feel,” Izzie clarifies, still sounding as calm as ever, “I believe you, and I think _you_ should believe you, too.”

“How are you not freaking out right now?” Casey manages. “I… you kind of freaked out a _lot_ when we were—” She shakes her head, dismissing the thought. “I’m sorry, I sound like a dick.”

Izzie sighs. “You’re right, though. I did freak out on you, more than once. And that was shitty of me, and _I’m_ sorry.” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “You know how, even when we were just barely becoming friends, I already knew you were my favorite person?”

Casey smiles in spite of everything. “Yeah, that was pretty gay.”

“Shut up,” Izzie scolds, nudging Casey a little. “This is serious. I knew you were special to me even before we were… us, and now that we _are_ us…” She finds Casey’s hand and laces their fingers. “Casey, do you have any idea how much you’ve taught me about myself? I used to be so focused on hiding what made me different, whether it was my family drama, or my feelings for you, or… whatever.” Izzie’s voice softens even more. “You make me feel so safe, and all I want is to return the favor.”

Casey’s chest is definitely on the verge of exploding, or maybe imploding, or maybe both at the same time. “What if—what if that’s what I’m afraid of? Forcing all of this stuff on you. It’s… it’s not fair.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

(It takes the strength of several hundred men, but Casey finally does, and it’s like she’s seeing Izzie’s eyes for the first time.)

“I’ve got you, okay? You’re my person, my Newton, my _Casey_ , and I’ve got you.”

Well, now she can’t see Izzie anymore because there’s too many tears in the way. “D’you think you could say that, like, a thousand more times?” she croaks in Izzie’s general direction, and there’s a set of arms wrapped tightly around her in the next instant. “Just the ‘I got you’ part,” she sob-mumbles into Izzie’s jacket, “you don’t have to keep repeating the names.”

“I love you,” is what Izzie says instead, right into Casey’s ear.

There goes her chest, exploding and imploding in every direction all at once. “Why?”

Izzie’s response is soft as silk. “You know why.”

x

They talk for hours.

Most of it is Casey word-vomiting, and only after repeated assurances from Izzie that the word vomit is good and healthy and important, and even then they still clam up sometimes and Izzie walks them through whatever this particular wave of uncertainty is about.

Them, meaning Casey, because… they’re trying the pronoun thing. Izzie asks Casey how they feel about it and Casey very honestly says they have no idea, but because practice is both harmless and impermanent, they—Casey and Izzie—think maybe it’s worth a shot.

“Do you trust me?” Izzie asks at one point, offering her hand.

“Why, are you about to whisk me off on a magic carpet ride?”

Izzie rolls her eyes and gestures again for Casey to take her hand, which they do, and Izzie leads them to a patch of grass by the team bench. Casey follows Izzie’s lead when she lies on her back, one hand cushioning her head and the other still holding Casey’s, and together they look up at the pitch dark sky.

“Casey Gardner,” she begins like she’s giving a presentation, “is sixteen. They’re a track star, they go to Clayton Prep, they have an older brother named Sam, and they’ll be kicking ass at UCLA in a few years.” She lets the statements sit for a long moment, then glances at Casey. “How did that feel?”

“A little weird,” Casey says honestly, “but like… not in a bad way. Just in a new way. I think. I don’t know.”

Izzie squeezes their hand. “Hey, there’s no right or wrong answer. Just let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling.”

Casey nods.

“I’m gonna say all that again, but I’m gonna use she/her pronouns. Okay?”

Casey nods again.

Izzie’s words are more careful this time. “Casey Gardner is sixteen. She’s a track star, she goes to Clayton Prep, she has an older brother named Sam, and she’ll be kicking ass at UCLA in a few years.” She pauses like the first time. “How did that feel?”

“I don’t know,” Casey semi-jokes, “did I do my twitch?”

“I wasn’t looking. I want _you_ to tell me.”

Casey takes a deep breath. “It… to be honest, it feels less gross when _you_ use those pronouns, because I know that you know—about—me,” they say. “But also, like… it’s kind of like you’re talking about something that I know is blue, and you’re telling me it’s green. It just feels… off. Like it doesn’t make sense.”

Izzie props herself on her elbow now, looking at them as she speaks. “Casey Gardner is sixteen,” she repeats for a third time, sounding effortless and conversational. “They’re a track star, they go to Clayton Prep, they have an older brother named Sam, and they’ll be kicking ass at UCLA in a few years.”

“Fuck yeah, they will,” Casey confirms with the smallest smile.

Izzie pulls Casey’s hand closer and kisses their knuckles. “What d’you say we get them home?”

“Just be careful when you drop me off on the balcony, ‘cause my pet tiger doesn’t like guests.”

x

Elsa and Doug are talking in the kitchen, and that’s never a good sign.

“Casey, is that you?” he calls out as soon as the door closes behind them.

“Uh… yeah,” is Casey’s brilliant response. “Izzie’s here too.”

They exchange glances and head further into the house, and Casey hopes their parents can’t tell that they’ve been crying.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner,” Izzie greets with a small wave.

“Where have you two been all night?” Elsa asks, setting her empty glass of wine into the sink. “I appreciate your confidence in Sam, but he really shouldn’t be on his own unless—”

Izzie takes a step forward. “I’m so sorry about that. It was my fault—there was some stuff going on with… at my place, and I asked Casey to meet me. I just really needed someone I could trust.”

Elsa’s sympathy-eyes are immediately on full blast. “Oh no. Is everything okay now?”

“It will be,” Casey says, nodding when Izzie glances back at them.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Elsa sighs. “Just communicate with us next time? Please?”

Doug raises a stern finger. “Yeah, you know better than to leave us hanging like that.”

“Won’t happen again.” 

Elsa and Doug looked shocked by Casey’s lack of a fight and Casey pulls Izzie toward the stairs before this conversation can go to any scary places. “We’re going to bed, g’night,” Casey calls out.

They make it to Casey’s room and take turns changing into pajamas, and Casey opts to be the big spoon as Izzie climbs into bed beside them.

One minute passes, then another, then another.

“I can hear your brain going into overdrive,” Izzie murmurs. “You don’t need to figure anything else out tonight, okay? Just rest.”

“My brain is not going into overdrive,” Casey argues, knowing full well Izzie won’t believe them. “And… thanks. For covering for me down there.”

Izzie holds Casey’s arm tighter against her and lets out a long yawn. “I told you, I’ve got you. Get some sleep, Newton.”

Casey tries.

They close their eyes for what feels like several years, then open them and realize only an hour has passed. They try focusing on Izzie’s warmth, Izzie’s scent, and it’s calming but doesn’t get the electricity out of their body; they can’t stop thinking about their parents and how easily Doug and Elsa slip into Stern Mode, and how they already have so much to worry about that has nothing to do with Casey, and how easy all of this feels when it’s only Casey and Izzie but when it comes to the rest of the world, the floor turns into vegan lasagna and they can’t keep a steady footing.

Casey thinks about how Elsa approved of their suit and their hair but still called Casey her girl, and they think about how Doug is one of the... _simpler_ members of the male species, and can his brain even handle anything beyond an autistic kid and a cheating wife?

What if they think this is all for attention? What if they think Casey just wants to feel “special”? What if—?

“Did you sleep at all?”

Casey realizes they’ve been staring up at the ceiling and glances at Izzie, who’s rolled over to face them and is squinting in the early morning light.

...Oops. “I guess not,” Casey admits.

She tucks herself into Casey’s side, resting her head on Casey’s chest and wrapping her arm around their waist. “You okay?”

Casey sighs. “Just anxious.”

“About your parents?” Their hold on Izzie tightens automatically and that answers that question. “M’sorry, babe.”

“We’re saying ‘babe’ now?”

Izzie laughs softly, sleepily, into Casey’s shirt. “S’that okay? Or are you gonna make fun of me?”

Casey kisses the top of Izzie’s head. “Yes to both.”

“Works for me.”

They’re playing with Izzie’s hair. “I was gonna say it a few weeks ago.”

“What, ‘babe’?”

“I love you.”

Izzie lifts her head up, finds Casey’s eyes. “You were? You… do?” Casey nods, and Izzie presses her forehead to Casey’s, letting their breath mix together for a moment before she kisses them, slow and sweet and sincere. “Doesn’t mean you beat me, though.”

“I’m sorry, _beat_ you?”

“You think I don’t see you trying to retroactively say ‘I love you’ first?

Casey tries to sound indignant. “I would _never_.”

Izzie kisses them again. “Liar.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“ _You_ sleep.”

Casey sighs again. “Believe me, I’d love to.”

Izzie settles back into Casey. “Everything is gonna be fine,” she says, not sounding dismissive or patronizing, but like she actually genuinely believes it.

“Promise?”

Her hand drifts up to Casey’s chest. “On your boob.”

“I love you.”

Izzie is passing out again and only responds with a non-verbal hum.

Casey listens to the steadiness of her breathing and eventually closes their eyes.

x

If the circles under their eyes are any indication, the whole sleep thing never quite works out. Izzie tries rubbing their back, playing with their hair, and even playing meditation tracks on her phone, but then the sun is fully up and Elsa is calling everyone down for breakfast and Casey just knows today is going to suck.

Izzie’s sweatshirt is the only thing that coaxes them out of bed, and with the hood up and strings drawn, Casey lets her escort them downstairs to the kitchen.

“There they are!” comes the sun-shiniest and also least desirable voice Casey could possibly be hearing at this moment; Paige beams from her seat next to Sam at the table, and Casey realizes that Paige’s “they” didn’t include Izzie.

“Paige is here,” Casey acknowledges, sounding extremely pained and immediately feeling Izzie’s hand on their lower back.

Elsa flips a pancake on the stove. “Morning, girls. How’d you sleep?”

Casey is still looking in Paige’s direction, and based on her facial expression, she seems to interpret that as a deliberate exchange-of-glances. She nods once like she’s accepting silent instructions and turns to Elsa. “Actually, Mrs. Gardner, Casey isn’t—”

“Feeling well,” Izzie finishes, positioning her body so Elsa can’t see and then giving Paige a _look_.

“What is it, Case?”

They scramble for symptoms that don’t involve a thermometer or a doctor’s appointment. “Uh—headache? Congestion. Just, y’know, same old stuff.”

Elsa turns the stove down and comes toward Casey, then reaches out to feel their forehead. “Well, you’re definitely feeling warm. Have you taken anything yet?”

“I was just gonna grab some pancakes then go straight back to bed,” Casey says, moving away from Elsa. 

“Casey, when did you want to finish our conversation from last night?” Paige asks way too eagerly.

That piques Elsa’s interest and she raises a playful eyebrow. “Wow, you two had a conversation?”

Sam looks up from his phone. “More like, Paige called Casey and then talked a lot and then Casey hung up on her.”

“Dude,” Casey scolds him.

“Wait, when was this?” Elsa wonders, looking confused. “I thought Casey was out with Izzie all night.”

Sam nods. “Yes. Paige called Casey, then Casey left, then I called Izzie and I said ‘I think Paige broke my sister—sorry, I mean sibling—”

“Sister and sibling are both right,” Elsa assures him.

A ball of dread explodes in Casey’s stomach.

“Well, Casey asked me to say ‘sibling’ instead, so I did.”

Paige squeezes his shoulder. “And I’m _so_ proud of you for respecting their wishes.”

Izzie clears her throat now. “Paige, can I talk to you?”

“Of course!”

Elsa watches Paige follow Izzie into the living room. “Respecting whose wishes? I’m getting confused.”

“It’s nothing, mom,” Casey insists, edging toward the living room so they can try to hear what Izzie is saying.

“Why would I misgender them?” Paige demands in a hushed tone.

“Because if Casey isn’t out to everyone in the room,” Izzie explains, “sometimes that’s the safer option. This isn’t your choice to make.”

Paige looks indignant. “But I’ve done _research_.”

“Google doesn’t know or understand Casey’s own personal experience, Paige. You can read about this stuff all you want, but to be a real ally you need to follow _Casey’s_ lead. _Stop_ making this about you.”

Paige’s arms are crossed over her chest as she squares her jaw… then notices them watching. “Casey, do you realize that your significant other is asking me to use she/her pronouns for you?”

Izzie looks at Casey in alarm. “You know that’s not what I—”

“She’s right,” they say to Paige quietly, glancing back toward the kitchen before moving to stand beside Izzie. “You gotta reel it in, at least until—”

The front door opens and in walk Doug and Evan wearing matching EMT uniforms.

“Take a look at this hot-shot,” Doug announces, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Evan. “Just took him out for a pop quiz and he nailed it.” He sniffs the air. “Is that pancakes I smell?”

Evan waves at Casey, Izzie, and Paige. “Morning, Suit-Case!”

Paige looks confused. “Did he just call you a suitcase?”

Doug looks even more confused as he glances at Evan. “ _Did_ you just call her a suitcase?”

“I—yeah?” Evan replies, scratching the back of his neck. “I was calling her Suit Girl but she didn’t like that, so then I realized Suit-Case was the most brilliant pun ever created, and it’s like, her name, so.”

“Aw, what’s wrong with Suit Girl?” Doug asks Casey with a grin. “I kinda like it. Sounds like a superhero.”

Elsa drifts into the living room from the kitchen. “Wait. So Casey asked Sam to call her his sibling instead of his sister, and asked Evan not to call her Suit Girl, and Paige also seems to be involved somehow?” Doug holds out his hands, completely clueless, and Elsa turns to Casey. “Honey, _what_ is going on? I feel like I’m missing something.”

Casey makes the enormous mistake of looking around at everyone looking right back at them; their stomach is in their throat and their whole body is on fire, but then Izzie catches their eyes, mouths _Breathe_ , and makes a show of inhaling and exhaling, and Casey repeats the action.

“Uh-m.” Their voice shakes and they start over. “I guess I sort of have something to tell you guys.”

Elsa and Doug exchange glances, and he plants his hands on his hips. “Well, what is it, Casey? What’s goin’ on?”

Izzie makes eye contact with Paige and nods her head toward the door, then gestures for Evan to follow them, and he grabs Sam from the kitchen before they all head outside.

Casey sinks into the armchair while Elsa and Doug take a seat on the couch, looking worried and most certainly assuming the worst.

(But what even is their definition of “the worst”?)

“I… I don’t really know how to…” Casey’s getting frustrated with themself already. “You know how I was wearing that suit? And how I cut my hair off?” They pull down their hood and Doug frowns at Elsa.

“I didn’t know about either of those things. Did you?”

Elsa just shushes him and pats his knee. “Keep going, Casey.”

They nod. “Okay. Um. The suit thing was kind of just for fun, but it made me realize I didn’t like my hair, which is why I…” They mime a pair of scissors cutting across. “But then I just kept realizing more stuff.”

“What stuff?” Elsa asks gently.

Casey opens and closes their mouth a few times, struggling to find the right words. “I-I… I think that I’m… m-maybe not a girl,” they finally manage, and they’re out of breath by the end of the sentence, and absolutely cannot look anywhere but at the floor.

“Not a girl?” Doug echoes. “What—what does that mean?”

“Is that why you said those things to Evan and Sam?”

Casey nods again. “I just… once I thought about it, I couldn’t un-think about it, and now I…” Ah fuck, their eyes are burning. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make your lives even more complicated.” They swipe at their tears with Izzie’s sweatshirt sleeve, knee bouncing as they take another deep breath, but then there’s a warm pressure and her knee stills: Elsa is sitting on the edge of the coffee table now, both hands on Casey’s leg.

“Being a parent is nothing _but_ complicated,” Elsa tells them, “and our entire job is to support you, a hundred percent, no matter what happens or what you learn about yourself.” She holds out her hands now and Casey takes them before they can overthink it, lets Elsa squeeze them tight. “Whatever it is, we’re here, and we’ve got you.”

Their cheeks are soaked now. “You promise?”

“We promise,” Doug confirms, scooting closer and putting his hand on Elsa’s shoulder.

Casey takes a deep breath.

x

The conversation goes surprisingly well.

Elsa nods, Doug scratches his head, and Casey tries not to puke, but the tears stop after a little while and their voice gets steadier and that in itself is downright miraculous.

“Okay, so I get that you don’t want to be called a girl,” Doug begins, “or a lady, or a woman, or anything like that. But the pronoun thing is a little confusing for me.”

Casey shrugs. “I mean, for me too, but I don’t really like she/her so I’m experimenting with they/them for now.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand. How can ‘they’ just mean one person when it usually means all of them out there,” he says, gesturing toward the front yard. “I… I just don’t know, Case.”

“Sweetie,” Elsa chimes in, “You use singular ‘they’ all the time without even realizing it.”

Doug gives her a look. “Like when?”

“Like when I tell you I went to the eye doctor, and you ask ‘What did they say?’ It can be used for any person whose gender you don’t know,” she explains, then gestures to Casey, “or for anyone who doesn’t identify as any particular gender at all.”

Casey stares at her, dumbfounded. “Elsa, how are you this chill about pronouns?”

“I follow the dictionary on Twitter. Singular ‘they’ was the word of the year last year.” She glances at Doug. “It was a whole thing.”

“You have a Twitter?” Doug and Casey ask in unison.

“I also read this lovely little anecdote once,” Elsa continues, “Where this grandpa was having trouble remembering the right pronouns, and he came up with this trick where he would pretend there was a mouse in his grandkid’s pocket, and that way he’d always say ‘they’ and ‘them’.” She turns to Doug again, looking excited. “Just pretend there’s a cute little critter hanging out with Casey, and then it’ll be like you’re talking about both Casey and the critter.”

Doug blinks. “Wait, like Casey’s carrying around a chipmunk or something? What are you talking about?”

“Okay,” Elsa relents, “we’ll work on that.” She turns her attention back to Casey. “What else do you need from us? How can we help you with this?”

“You mean, like, aside from being completely cool with everything I just told you?” Casey thinks on it for a beat. “I honestly have no idea.”

Elsa holds eye contact. “But you’ll tell us when you do have an idea?”

They nod. “I will. I promise.”

Now she looks mischievous. “Will you get mad if I tell you I love you?”

“I’ll allow it just this once,” Casey says, forcing an eye roll for the sake of staying on-brand.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Casey,” Doug agrees. “No matter what, even if I’m a little slower with this stuff.”

Casey grins. “Spend five minutes with Paige and I guarantee you, you’ll have it down.”

He grimaces. “I’d really rather not, if that’s okay.” Elsa whacks him in the arm. “What? You know how she is.”

“I do, but I would’ve felt bad about not defending our son’s girlfriend.” Elsa looks thoughtful now. “How’s Izzie doing with all of this?”

Casey’s face heats up. “Izzie’s… perfect.”

Now it’s Elsa’s turn to look misty-eyed. “I’ll bet she is. I’m glad you have her.” She lets out a sigh of relief and sits up straight. “You should go check in and make sure she’s not worrying too much,” she says, but before Casey can get to their feet, Elsa takes their hand one last time. “Thank you for trusting us. I couldn’t be prouder to have such a brave kid.” She pauses. “Child? Offspring? What would you prefer?”

“We’ll figure it out later,” Casey replies, sparing Elsa and then Doug the briefest but tightest of hugs, then all but bursts out the door and finds everyone but Izzie sitting on the front lawn; Izzie is pacing up and down the walkway, but stops when she sees Casey.

“How’d it go?”

Casey skips any immediate answer and just propels themself into Izzie’s arms, letting their favorite person squeeze them half to death and not giving one single shit about their three-person lawn audience. “Elsa killed it,” they whisper into Izzie’s ear. “My dad might need some Schoolhouse Rock. Everything’s fine.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Casey Gardner,” Izzie whispers back.

“So, uh…” Evan begins from his seat on the grass. “I still don’t completely understand what’s going on.”

Casey and Izzie keep their arms around each other as Casey turns to face everyone. “Paige, you wanna do the honors?”

Evan gives Casey a look. “Really?”

Paige gasps, ecstatic. “ _Really?_ ”

“Can everyone be quiet?” Sam asks, eyes never leaving his phone. “I’m trying to hear this live-stream of penguin eggs hatching.”

x

Casey has never really been one to get pumped up about school festivities, but they’re starting to realize that maybe it’s because they just hadn’t given themself the chance.

Tonight’s junior prom is _special_ , as much as they loathe that word; it’s their first Clayton thing since they and Izzie started dating, and it’s a fun thing that for once won’t involve Sam or their parents, and it’s a formal thing that finally gives Casey the chance to show off this suit.

Izzie’s already dressed to the nines in a stupidly beautiful red dress—her idea, wanting to pay homage to that fateful dinner party that started so much for both their relationship and for Casey—and she chooses to openly stare at Casey’s reflection from her seat on the edge of Casey’s bed as they try to tie their tie. 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to—?”

“I was sure the last three times you asked me,” Casey retorts, “and at this point I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Izzie sighs. “Alright, suit yourself.” Casey glares at her in the mirror and Izzie holds up her hands innocently. “Zero pun intended, I swear.”

Two knocks on the door. “Casey, can I come in?”

“No,” Casey calls back just for fun.

Elsa appears a moment later, looking excited like she’s just walked into a secret meeting. “I just wanted to see how you two were doing in here…”

Casey starts over with the tie. “Really? Because you almost never ‘just’ anything.”

“Okay, okay, you caught me,” Elsa confesses. “I was wondering… if you’d be open… to wearing something else.”

Their hands freeze and Casey catches Izzie’s eyes in the mirror again. “What d’you mean, something else? What’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your suit,” Elsa assures them, “but I kind of, maaaaybe, had something different in mind.”

Casey’s trying not to lose their shit. “So… what, are you saying you’re not cool with this?”

Izzie’s on her feet and at Casey’s side, holding Casey’s hand protectively.

Elsa looks between them and holds her hands up in front of her, clasped like she’s praying. “I know how it sounds, but I’m asking you both to trust me. Please?”

They exchange glances with Izzie again, then Casey sighs. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Come with me,” Elsa says, beaming, but she also seems a little nervous as she leads Casey to her own bedroom, through the door and around the corner— 

“What is this?” is all that Casey manages when they see the suit that’s hanging in the corner. The fabric is black and sleek as hell and very obviously not from any thrift store, and just by standing in front of it, they can already tell it’s going to fit perfectly. “Elsa… what the fuck?”

Elsa has been standing beside them and cranes their neck to get a look at Casey’s face. “Is that a good ‘what the fuck’ or a bad ‘what the fuck’?”

Casey can’t find the words, just buries themself in the biggest hug they’ve given Elsa maybe since they’ve been alive. “Where did you—? How did you—?”

“I saw it the other day and I thought it had you written all over it.” Elsa glances around the room. “Doug, where did you put the tie?”

“Sorry,” he says from somewhere in the hallway, “I put it with all of mine so it wouldn’t get lost.”

Casey listens to his footsteps get closer, and when he finally appears, he’s holding out a red tie, but it’s not a solid color like the one currently hanging around their neck; it’s striped red and black with thinner, shiny red stripes between them, and it’s the coolest fucking thing they’ve ever seen.

“I asked Izzie about her dress, so this, uh…” he explains, handing it over and then stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It should match pretty good.”

They glance from the suit, to Doug, to Elsa and back again.

“We hope you like it,” Elsa says, linking arms with Doug, who nods in agreement.

All Casey can do is nod, and keep nodding. “I’m—I’m gonna go put it on.” They all but race back to their bathroom and shut the door before Izzie can see what they’re holding.

“What happened?” Izzie asks through the door. “Are you okay?”

“No peeking!” They take off their current pieces and fold them on the counter, then step into the new pants, button up the new shirt, tie their tie in a way that’s probably mostly right, then pull on the jacket and watch it settle effortlessly over their shoulders. “Izzie?”

“You know I’m right here.”

Casey takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then opens the bathroom door all the way, and watches as Izzie takes everything in and her jaw visibly drops. Casey glances down at their own body, examining all the details. “This’ll do, right?”

By the time they look up again, Izzie is gripping Casey by their lapels as she pulls them in for a kiss, then another, and then several more before she pulls away breathlessly.

“Can I fix your tie?”

Casey lets their head fall back. “If you must.”

Izzie undoes the current knot and gets to work. “Did you know that you’re, like, the hottest person I’ve ever met?”

They scoff but also turn bright red. “Okay, but have you _met_ you?”

“Clayton’s not gonna know what to do with us,” Izzie says with the cutest, sexiest half-smile, then pats Casey’s shoulders. “Done.”

Casey turns to check themself in the mirror and Izzie does the same. “We look _amazing_ ,” Casey decides after a beat.

“Fuck yeah, we do.”

“I told Elsa she’s only allowed to take one photo of us before we leave.”

Izzie doesn’t look convinced. “You sure you’re only gonna want one photo of this?”

“Oh, _we_ are taking selfies all night.” Casey cringes. ‘I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

She giggles and offers her hand, and Casey takes it.

They’re ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to JJ for being an amazing first reader and to Alex for the daily feelings-parkour.
> 
> In your comments (please leave comments!!!) I ask that you use they/them pronouns for Casey, given the content and context of the fic. 
> 
> Because I have So Many God Damn Feelings about this story and I'm still processing all the things I thought and felt while writing it, I'm considering doing an "Author's Commentary" of sorts where I post the full text of the fic but with added comments, insights, details, etc about certain scenes or moments. Is that something you'd be into? Let me know, and feel free to ask me any specific questions you have.
> 
> Lastly: I love you, Brigette and Fivel. Thank you for being such powerful and inspirational performers. I could not have written this story without your faces and voices in my head.


End file.
